A World Not Our Own
by Totschafe
Summary: The worlds of the spirits within the swords of Shinigami reflect their wielder. Sometimes, their wielder can enter these worlds and see the essence of their power face to face.


D: Augh, this is so lame, but it was stuck in my head like you wouldn't believe. I've kind of always been fascinated by the swords in Bleach, especially by the fact that each has its own individual spirit. So hey, leave my imagination wandering and I come up with things like this. :P

And I know someday more of the spirits will be revealed and whatnot, but I like guessing at what they look like. Shinsō, for example, has always seemed like a very elegant, Heian-period kind of spirit which goes with the mystery and weird elegance I associate with Gin. Weird? Absolutely.

If all goes well and I get enough love for this chapter, I'll continue with as many Zanpakutō as I can think of. I planned on making one for Kazeshini, Zangetsu, Zabimaru, Haineko, Wabisuke, Hyorinmaru, and probably some from the Espada. I'll even take requests (seeing as how I'm sure they wouldn't have had a Zanpakutō popularity poll if people don't like them).

And now onto the fic. Just don't kill me when you're done. ._.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Bleach and this certainly isn't canon. ;-; If I had my way, it _so_ would be.

* * *

**_"Ikorose, Shinsō!"

* * *

_**

The world in which Shinsō resides fascinates Gin. Gin has heard that the world and the spirit of the sword reflect the wielder. He wonders if that's also true for him. He can't decide, even when he walks through it with his fox-faced Zanpakutō at his side. Shinsō says that just like every other sword's world, his world's weather is controlled by how Gin feels. Just as well, Shinsō mentions that the weather is warm, dark, and misty. Sometimes, there are storms and rarely, the sun will shine in blue skies. However, Shinsō mentions, that is _very _rare.

The world is always the same when Gin comes to it. There is a house, a mansion in appearance. It sits in a clearing surrounded by flooded rice fields which glisten in the mist like silver pools. The house is raised on tiny pillars and a small stone stair leads onto the oaken veranda. From there, it goes into a small genkan and rises up to the main floor. Beyond that are rooms that Gin has hardly explored. He finds it odd that even in the recesses of his soul; there are places he has never seen.

Shinsō will often lead him into the tearoom, a tatami-covered room with a low-lying table facing the elaborate gardens beyond the veranda and thin paper screens painted with elaborate scenes of tigers and cypress trees. Shinsō insists that the gardens are of Gin's own doing. Gin has never believed it. The gardens are so colorful and brilliant, ranging from dry gardens with rocks arranged to look like a riverbed all the way down to an expansive miniature jungle close to the walls that enclose the private space. The flowers change often, Gin has noticed. Once, there was entire bed full of marigolds. The next time he arrived, it was replaced with a glowing plethora of daffodils. When he asked Shinsō, the spirit only smiled in the peculiar way he did and shook his head.

"You know why," he said.

Then there was the matter of Shinsō's appearance. He is a Shapeshifter, just like his sword form. Often, he takes the form of an elaborately-dressed male with long black hair and curious yellow eyes. Gin faintly recalls a painting on a wall scroll of a god who looked just like him. Inari, wasn't it? It would make sense then, due to the rice paddies outside and the fox-like appearance of Shinsō's handsome face. Once in awhile, Shinsō takes the form of a white fox with a grinning face. Other times, he becomes a regular fox. Gin likes the Inari form best. He finds it absolutely fascinating; what with all the colorful robes he wears. Therefore, the fox-faced spirit keeps that form more often than any other.

Shinsō's speech pattern is strange to Gin, just like his house and his appearance. He speaks in Gin's form of speech, polite but indirect in that strange Kansai voice that Gin has been noted for using. However, Shinsō's speech is so much more elegant and somewhat less malicious. Gin doesn't know what to make of it, but he enjoys hearing it. Shinsō has a habit of turning average statements into music. Maybe that's why he's a spirit. Neither human nor Shinigami could ever do something so fantastic just by _speaking_. He believes he could listen to the other speak for days, so he visits as often as he can.

* * *

One night, Gin arrives when the mist is at its thickest. The moon hovers above the mansion in a strange blur. As Gin approaches the genkan, he finds the house lit eerily from within. It is certainly Shinsō's doing. As usual, the spirit meets him at the door, smiling as pleasantly as he can. Gin knows that Shinsō knows what is on his mind. Of course he would. He and Shinsō are essentially the same thing. Shinsō won't say a word until he knows that the time is appropriate.

They go straight into the tearoom with steaming cups of mat'cha already awaiting them. Gin is the first to sit down, eying the garden with a silent regard. The mist is dark silver and hovering above the numerous ponds and stones outside. There is a strange humid heat settling around them as the spirit takes his seat and lifts his cup to his lips. He eyes his wielder with interest. Gin's crimson eyes are open and darkened by his inner turmoil that makes itself present in their private world. A storm is in the air, licking at them with its humid tongue. Shinsō knows it will come in due time. He'll just wait as he always does.

"The flowers are strange tonight," Gin says quietly, holding his cup by his chin but not moving any further than that. Red irises are staring pointedly at the ever-changing flowerbed that rings the main pond. "Daffodils, marigolds, and Lily of the Valley…right?"

"You should know," Shinsō replies. "You planted them."

"Oh," Gin responds, lowering his cup after a pause. "I must've forgot."

Thunder resounds in the distance and the silvery mist darkens more with oncoming clouds. Without a movement from either Shinigami or spirit, numerous lamps light up around the house, casting flickering shadows against the thin shoji screens. The flames that burn are a cool blue color, making the rooms atmospherically cooler just by sight alone.

Shinsō looks at his wielder's hands that are now clenched firmly around his teacup, near trembling. He can barely remember the last time Gin was so upset. Shinsō sets his cup down and reaches across the table, long fingers ghosting over the wrist of his silver-haired owner. "You're frightened Ichimaru," he states.

"Yeah… I can't hide that from ya," Gin said softly.

"Is it Aizen-san that disturbs you?"

"Ya know what it is."

Shinsō pauses and nods. He remembers that he and Gin cannot hold a conversation like everyone else does. Most of human conversation relies so much on guessing what the other is thinking. Humans crave mystery. Shinigami are just as human in that sense. Therefore, he and Gin's conversation is detached. Gin cannot hide his thoughts from Shinsō.

"Haineko's wielder will be fine," Shinsō says reassuringly. He pauses as a thought rushes through Gin's mind so quickly that it's almost hard to understand. Shinsō's mouth is set in a firm line and he stares down at his cup. Lightning cuts through the clouds, lighting the mist up for just a second. Thunder trembles even closer to the house. Gin's mental state is cracking slowly. Rain begins to patter lightly on the shingles of the home. "And," Shinsō adds quickly, his voice wavering, "You worry about Wabisuke's wielder."

"I can't help it," Gin responds, his voice lowered to an airy whisper. Thunder rumbles again in almost a growl as his fingers tighten around his cup, almost breaking it. "Shinsō, you've met Wabisuke, right?"

"I've met every Zanpakutō you have ever faced," Shinsō replies. "Wabisuke and I are quite close."

"So you have to know how he's doin', right?"

Shinsō's expression becomes grim. "The farther you get from Kira-kun, the farther I get from Wabisuke."

A humongous bolt of lightning lights up the sky and rain pours in torrents. Thunder reports like a cannon and causes the house to tremble slightly. Gin slams his teacup down. His normally composed face has been shattered and replaced by an anguished expression so unlike him that Shinsō can't help but recoil. "So…" Gin growls under his breath. "Ya don't know?"

"I do know, just not well," Shinsō replies, his voice sympathetic. There is so little he can do for Gin. He's known the silver-haired Shinigami since he was born. He knows everything he's been through. He's sliced through every victim and has seen and felt every life Gin has touched, whether it be good or bad. He's felt the adoration Gin has for Rangiku and has felt the big brother-like affection for Kira, which sometimes felt like it would escalate into something more. What could he possibly say to make Gin feel better?

Instead, he gets up and walks around to the other side of the table, silver and cerulean robes drifting behind him like waves. He kneels beside his wielder who is gripping the edge of the table. One elegant hand covers the trembling other and Gin looks to him, partially surprised but expecting it all the same. Crimson meets gold for just a moment before Gin looks away. "How can you look at me like tha'? How can you even stay wit' me?"

"I can't leave you, Ichimaru Gin," Shinsō says quietly. "You and I are bound forever."

Gin agrees with a saddening sigh before he lifts his hand with Shinsō's still wrapped around it. He eyes the flawless skin and bites his bottom lip. "I never understood…and never will. How can ya be me? Yer like…"

"Don't say the opposite, because I'm not," Shinsō replies in a fluid voice. "I am just as much of you as you are. You are well capable of being like me. I'm just like your other half. I'm your spirit in essence."

Gin doesn't know how to answer. He's not used to feeling this way. For too long, he's held up a façade of someone who is either constantly happy or constantly malicious. Only Shinsō knows that there's much more to him. Shinsō makes it known by separating his hand from Gin's and wrapping his arms around thin shoulders. He rests his head atop Gin's, nestling into silvery hair. The silver-haired Shinigami rarely likes contact, but Shinsō knows that being an orphan for so long has made Gin actually clingy in some ways.

"What…what do I do?" Gin finally asks, sounding unsure of himself. Shinsō doesn't like that tone in his voice at all. Gin is supposed to sound playful and teasing. Outside, the storm has lessened into a steady rain.

"I don't know," Shinsō says softly, watching the misting precipitation. Gin nuzzles against his chest and sighs. The spirit hears all of his wielder's thoughts and frowns deeply. He kisses the top of Gin's head, breathing in the clean scent that he could recognize anywhere. Underneath the clean smell is a hint of persimmons, a faint wisp of sandalwood incense, and the calming herbal scent of tea. One of Shinsō's hands reaches under Gin's chin and brings him up so they can see each other, face to face.

Shinsō has always loved Gin's eyes. They often frightened many of the children in the dank, horrid district of Rukongai that Gin roamed for so many years. He remembered how rejected Gin felt when they ran, calling him scary and cowering at the mere sight of him. Yet only two people other than the spirit ever thought his eyes were wonderful. Rangiku thought they were the most beautiful eyes in the world. Kira thought they were hauntingly amazing and secretly relished in whatever moment the irises were revealed.

"You'll get through this," the spirit says soothingly, golden eyes intense. "You'll understand what to do in time. You always have understood, and you always will. And as always, I will be by your side. I will do whatever you want when you call on me."

There is consideration in Gin's eyes before they close and squint once more, a smile crossing his face. However, it is unlike any smile Gin has ever offered. It's sincere and hopeful. Shinsō feels proud that he is the only one Gin will ever smile for. "Thank you," Gin says quietly, his voice as sincere as his face.

"You're welcome," Shinsō replies. He holds Gin as the rain softens into a misty sheet, cool and pleasant. The blue lights flicker around the house, turning the strands of Gin's hair into a brilliant shade of shimmering silver. The moment is calm and sweet to the fox spirit. However, he knows that it will only last for so long. Within days, Gin's insanity will creep back into the home like a dark shadow or a rotten curse. The weather will change once more to let that enigmatic mist flow through the gardens. Shinsō will hole back up in the house and watch it all from his quarters, gripping his long spear. He will await different sword spirits as they approach his home and he will once again throw his weapon and pierce them.

His thoughts are interrupted by a soft sigh from his wielder. Shinsō has hardly noticed that the rain has stopped completely, giving way to mist once more. He watches the mist as it curls through the gardens like a silver snake, calm and awaiting its next victim. Much to the spirit's surprise, the mist suddenly clears and he can see the full moon reflecting on one of the sable pools close to the house. Gazing at the clearness in wonder, he feels Gin shift in his arms.

"Ne, Shinsō-sama…" he says in a calm voice.

"Yes?"

Gin looks up at him with his eyes open again. "How much can I come here?"

Shinsō at first doesn't know how to answer. The Shinigami's visits are rare enough. He forces a confident smile. "As much as you'd like."

Gin's eyes close in a smile once more but he flinches suddenly as a new presence arises in his private place. Barely visible above one of the garden walls is a shimmering blue shape. It disappears as fast as it comes. "What was that?" Gin asks, huddling up against his spirit.

"Kyoka Suigetsu," Shinsō says darkly. He and the illusionary spirit have never gotten along well. He would know her anywhere and he certainly doesn't want her barging into his home. "Aizen is near. I'm sure he wants to see you."

A curse escapes Gin's mouth and he sits up. "I guess that means I have to go?" he asks, unsure and sounding slightly disappointed.

Shinsō wants to curse as well. He would much rather have Wabisuke come in, or perhaps Haineko. At least they're _polite_ company. That, and he certainly doesn't want Gin to leave. He shifts his shoulders and looks to his left. Leaning against a shoji wall is his trusted spear. Kyoka Suigetsu never paid good visits. "Yes," he says as he gets up. "It would be best."

"Alright," Gin says softly, standing up as well and stretching out. He turns to Shinsō and walks up to him, eyes open and alight with some strange emotion that Shinsō can't precisely read. To the spirit's surprise, Gin puts his arms around Shinsō's shoulders and stays still, reveling in the feeling. Few wielders have ever gotten so close to their spirit and Gin prides himself on being one of the few. After a moment, he turns around and leaves silently, without another word.

The house goes quiet again and the presence of Gin and Kyoka Suigetsu disappear together. Shinsō stands awkwardly in the tearoom, eying the half-empty cups he and Gin have left behind. With a wave of his hand, they disappear. He frowns and looks out at the garden. The flowerbed has shifted again, now filled with Lily of the Valleys. However, he spots a flower he has never seen before. Hidden behind the numerous plants is a plot filled with delicate-looking violet flowers. It takes only a moment before Shinsō realizes what they are: foxgloves.

He smiles in a way that nearly mirrors his wielder. His image shudders and in his place is a small white fox, the same color as the moon. In graceful bounds, he leaps into the garden to where the foxgloves are. With a quiet sigh, he curls beneath their long stalks and rests his head on his tail. He will wait, as he always has. When he hears his awakening phrase, he will run to the house with unbelievable speed and grasp his spear again.


End file.
